A Mark Unwilling

by Candace Wondrak

  “My car!” Mike yells, gun in hand. He shoots it, but the bullets sink into the rider’s armor, melding with it. That doesn’t stop him from continuing to fire, though.

  The Horseman’s black, faceless head turns, its helmet housing nothing but darkness. The horse jumps off and walks toward us. As it gets closer, the rider swings his sword to the ground. Another fissure with red fire…this one devours my car. The whole parking lot is a wreck of pavement and concrete.

  “My car!” I shout, much like Mike did.

  Mike reloads and lets off more shots. The Horseman grows angry. The horse stands on its hind hooves, the fire mane and tail intensifying. It charges at Mike.

  “Great,” I say, “now you got it mad!” Without hesitation, I move between the Horseman and Mr. Agent Awesome. Mike is stunned as the Horseman skids to a stop. I watch the rider tighten his grip on the flame sword. It doesn’t attack.

  Two for two.

  What is going on here?

  Behind us, a car beeps. David leans over, opening the passenger seat and shouting, “Get in!”

  I tell Mike, “Get in first.”

  Mike begrudgingly does so.

  The horse paws at the ground, leaving little fires where its hooves touch. For a moment, I stare at the rider, but my arm begins to hurt. I ignore the sharp pain, backing up and getting in the car. “Go, go, go!” I say, seeing a shift in the Horseman’s stance.

  It wouldn’t attack me directly, but it would attack the car.

  David slams on the gas, peeling his car as we take off. The Horseman’s sword hits the ground, another fissure cracking and opening. The fissure stops fifty feet from the Horseman, just before our back tires.

  We barely make it.

  The rider lifts its sword in the air. The flames lick at the sky as sirens sound in the distance. Police vehicles pass us, heading straight for the beast. I settle in the front seat, wordlessly buckling my seatbelt.

  “I think we’re past the time for seatbelts,” David says, glancing in the rearview mirror at Mike.

  I’m about to say safety first, but in the back seat, Mike slams his first on the side cup holder. It startles both David and I. “I left my coffee,” he whispers, as if that cup full of ten expresso shots is his lifeline.

  “Well, let me just turn this car around so we can go get it,” David says, definitely not turning his car around.

  Mike puts one hand on the driver’s seat and one on mine, pulling his face between us. He scrutinizes David, slowly turning to me and saying, “I don’t remember calling the Warlock.”

  “We’re a package deal,” I tell him.

  “How does…” David’s question trails off as Mike shoves his arm forward, revealing his still-exposed Mark. David’s charm for Humans not seeing his pointed ears doesn’t work on those touched by Demons.

  As Mike rolls his sleeve back up, I wonder why the Horseman wouldn’t care about harming Mike. He’s Marked, too. Some Demon owns him, just like one owns me. What makes my stupid Mark so special?

  Once the third passenger returns to his spot in the back, I mutter, “Remind me to interrogate Deb when we get back. She knew about the Horseman. We need to find out what else she knows about.” My Mark’s pain fades slowly, and I do my best to hide it. I don’t want David to worry. “Do you think it’ll follow us?”

  “No,” Mike is the one to answer. “From what I’ve seen of the first, they can’t leave the direct area where they were summoned.”

  David hums, “So you have a lot of experience with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”

  “No, but I do have eyes and I’ve been listening to the reports,” Mike hisses, still very much like Wolverine in his attitude. It makes me wonder if this is the real Mike Hess—if the agent that met me in the hospital was the fake. “It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure it out.”

  David is quiet for a little bit, shooting a side glance at me. “What a very nice man you picked up, Lexa.”

  “Technically, you’re the one who picked him up, not me,” I tell him, slouching and putting my feet on his dashboard. He knows better by now than to lecture me on it. My eyes travel to the window on the side of the car. From my angle, I could see Mike in the back.

  He holds a hand to his chin, staring out the window at the darkening landscape. He seems pensive, downtrodden. He’s probably thinking the same thing I am: two Horsemen in one day. The world is screwed.

  Yeah.

  Mike slams the car door as David turns off his car and parks behind his shop. He looks at the building David calls home, saying, “This place looks like shit. Tell me we’re not going in there.”

  It might look a little run-down compared to the other shops in the area, but it doesn’t look awful. At least, I don’t think so. But maybe I’m biased. I did spend a lot of my childhood here, much to the annoyance of my parents. They don’t exactly like David. A bad influence, they say. The reality is that he’s not Human, and my parents don’t want me associating with anyone who’s not Human.

  David and I will stick together until the end. And when the Demon whose Mark I have comes to collect, David will be okay. Living three hundred plus years, he’s seen and lost a lot of people he cared about. And he knew from day one what would happen to me eventually.

  David glances to me, whispering, “Remind me not to invite him to my Christmas party.” He fiddles with his key ring, finding the key to unlock the shop’s back door.

  I walk with him, ahead of Mike. “Dude, I wish you had a Christmas party.”

  Chuckling, he says as he unlocks the door, “I bet. You always complain about the ones your parents throw, inviting all the hoity-toity neighbors and their snot-nosed brats. What did those kids ever do to you?”

  I blink. “Uh, they left boogers all over my Xbox controller.”

  David pauses for a moment, realizing for the first time that I meant snot-nosed brats quite literally. “Oh…gross.”

  As we enter the shop and find Deb and Xena in the same spots as we left them, I grow suddenly sad, because in all probability, we’d never have any Christmas parties again. No Christmas in general.

  How depressing.

  No more movies, no more music that starts on Thanksgiving (thank you, retail America), no more presents wrapped perfectly in shiny paper. Out of everything, out of every holiday and every tradition, Christmas is the one I’ll miss the most.

  I immediately walk to Deb, putting a hand on her drawing, startling her and forcing her to look at me. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “I did,” Deb says quickly, cheeks aflame. I see that David stands behind me, his arms crossed. He’d never hurt her, but he does have an intimidating stance. “I said War is coming.”

  “I thought you meant…end-of-the-world war is coming. Lower case war, not capital case War!” I throw my hands up, taking it off her picture. It is starting to look more like a finished product, but I still can’t tell what it is. “When’s the next one coming? How much time do we have?”

  Deb is flustered, gesturing to her notepad. “What do you think I’m trying to do? Everyone keeps interrupting me—”

  “You’ve had two hours, and all you’ve drawn is a tree,” David says.

  “It doesn’t come easy,” she says. “It’s harder than it looks. When I’m pressured I work slower, and I don’t see everything—”

  David huffs, “Sounds like a bunch of excuses.”

  Deb’s cheeks burn so red I think they’re going to burst into flames. Before she can defend herself, Mike speaks as he studies the back room, “Looked like shit from the outside, looks even worse when you’re knee-deep in it.” He retrieves his phone, says, “I have to make a call,” and steps back outside. Probably calling his supervisors. Reporting in or whatever FBI agents do.

  “Uncalled for,” David says, turning to me. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t like our new tag-along. The girl’s all right, but he’s horrid. He’s out.” He’s suddenly near the door, about to lock Mike out.

  “If
you lock him out,” Deb says confidently, “he’ll stay anyway.”

  David’s finger toys with the silver lock for a few seconds before he exclaims, “Fine. But for the record, I think he’s quite the ass, considering we saved his life.”

  “Do you know what Mark he has?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “There are thousands of Demons. I know some, but not all of them.”

  A quick look to Deb reveals the prophetic girl doesn’t know, either. “Can you look it up?”

  His expression is blank. “If I had a Mark encyclopedia, I would’ve figured out what Mark you have by now. It’s infinitely more difficult to research Marks when no such thing exists.” David rubs a hand through his brown hair. “I can try. No promises, though. Almost twenty years and I’m still at square one with yours.”

  “He knows something about mine.”

  “Do you think we can beat it out of him?” David’s gleeful question makes me smile and throw a glance at Deb, who acts quite interested in her drawing, pretending that she doesn’t know anything about it, either.

  “I wish,” I tell him seriously. I’d rather have the nice lumberjack Agent Awesome than the gruff, angry Wolverine Mike. “But if this is our rag-tag apocalyptic group, I think we should try to stay on friendly terms with each other.”

  “What about Deb? I’m sure she’s got parents she wants to get back to,” David tells me, reminding me that Deb is a real person and not my sidekick with no life outside of me. I’d only met her today. I hate that he’s right.

  At the table, Deb whispers, “No. I’d rather stay here.”

  “Great. I’ll just start feeding everyone, then.”

  I lightly punch his arm. “Don’t be a grouch.” I tug on his shirt and whisper in his ear, “Plus she’s always blushing around you. I think she likes you.”

  Turning so that our backs are to her, he says, “She looks like she’s ten.”

  “She’s my age.”

  “Exactly. I’m ancient compared to you both.”

  “David, you’re ancient compared to everybody.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just think about it. She’s cute. You’re cute. You’d make a cute couple.”

  David sighs. “Why are you trying to play matchmaker when there’s an apocalypse happening?” A good question.

  I shrug. I’m at the point where I just don’t care anymore. “If this is the end, why not? It may be my first and last time as Cupid.”

  He heaves yet another sigh as he walks to the stairs. I follow him, hearing him say, “Please tell me you don’t plan on stripping down, sprouting wings and shooting people with love arrows? The idea of Cupid always freaked me out.”

  “I’d look like one demented Cupid, that’s for sure,” I say, imagining myself naked with wings, running around like a spirited psycho with heart-shaped arrows. My Mark would probably dictate that my wings would be bat wings.

  Ugly things. No feathers. Just skin stretched out over the bones. Ick.

  We head upstairs into his apartment. He has a couch, a bed for him, and an inflatable. One of us will have to sleep on the floor. David and I both vote for it to be Agent Grumpy, who finally came inside while we were getting the beds ready. Mike puts up a fight, wanting to leave and report to his superiors, but one look at the news station changes his mind. He takes the old sleeping bag we found in one of David’s closets.

  While Deb quickly showers upstairs, I flip through her notebooks. I find drawings of Conquest and War, both in their homes of the campus and coffee shop parking lot. Those would have been nice to see before the Horseman came about.

  The President appears on the news, addressing the nation. Regardless of state, status, gender—every citizen is worried tonight. Other nations offer to send their support; it seems the Horsemen have only showed up in America. Aren’t we just the greatest country in the world?

  Sarcasm. Please note it. Not once in my life have I ever believed we are the greatest. Greatest at being prideful and racist, sure, but not the greatest in general.

  I then gaze at the newest drawing, still in progress. It has a familiarity that I recognize, and yet I can’t place it. The details aren’t drawn out yet. I’d have to wait until Deb is totally done with it.

  Trying not to think of it, I head upstairs and plop on the couch. I gave Deb the inflatable mattress, since I’m so nice. Xena kneads my stomach for a few moments before settling down on me, purring loudly. I close my eyes and try to sleep. Honestly, I don’t know if sleep is going to come.

  But it does.

  Smoke, fire and brimstone.

  These are the trademarks of Hell.

  I stand, wearing absolutely nothing. My entire Mark burns, the black glowing a deep red. My feet dig into the grass. I’m on some nameless hill, life and bliss behind me, staring straight into a wasteland of death and destruction. Something in the heat calls for me, and I want to go. I take one step but stop the moment I see a snake slithering toward me.

  The serpent comes directly out of the fires. The flames don’t touch it. Its scales are a shiny, metallic black, mirroring the redness behind it and the greenness behind me. Its slit eyes rise, and the limbless body slithers into the air, parallel to my naked form, defying gravity itself, like it’s crawling on an invisible wall. When its head reaches my height, it turns its head to me, slithering on nothing to wrap itself around my neck. Instead of squeezing me, suffocating me, it hangs on me, its scaly face rubbing against my cheek.

  It’s as if the snake is telling me it’s up to me. Go forward into Hell or back the way I came, to a life that surely must be better than what waits for me through the fire and brimstone.

  I hesitate, not ready to make any decisions like that.

  When I don’t move, the snake grows irritated. Hissing, it lashes out, biting my neck.

  I expect pain. I expect the bite to hurt. It is punishment for not deciding which way to go, isn’t it? But it doesn’t hurt. In fact, my heart rate is normal. Actually, it feels…good.

  What in the heck is going on here?

  I blink, and suddenly the snake’s body is wrapped around my arm. Its scales don’t feel like scales. Its tail slides through my fingers, and I shiver. Its mouth hangs on my neck, its teeth inside me. I could pull it off. I should.

  But I don’t.

  I continue to stand where I am, letting the snake bite me, creepily enjoying it, and all the while refusing to make a decision.

  I don’t wake up soon enough.

  I wake with a sharp intake of breath. I sit, finding that, sometime during the night, Xena hopped off me and settled at the opposite end of the couch. Swinging my legs over the side, I stand. I leave my boots and jacket on the floor of the tiny room, going into the hall and checking David’s room, where both men slept. Both are gone. I see sunlight peeking through the window, and I realize that it’s nearly noon.

  Why in the world did no one wake me up? If they would have, maybe it would’ve woken me up from that strange dream. No, I don’t think strange cuts it. I can’t think of an adjective that does—creepy, weird, bizarre…none of them do it justice.

  It was just wrong.

  I go down the stairs, finding Deb, Mike and David eating oatmeal as they watch news. Hands on my hips, I wait until one of them notices me.

  Of course, it’s David who says something first, “They’ve quarantined both Horsemen. Built walls around them.”

  “They finally realized the Horsemen can’t leave the area they were summoned,” Mike speaks into his bowl. There are bags under his eyes, as if the man hadn’t slept a wink. “Damn idiots. They didn’t need to build any walls.”

  David stands, setting his bowl down. “I can get you a bowl, if you…” He walks to the stairs, stopping when he sees my arm. Or, more specifically, my wrist.

  Oops. I should have put my jacket on after all.

  His hand quickly reaches for my wrist, turning it to view the black, red-speckled Mark. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is loud, and he
’s very upset with me, for good reason I suppose. Deb and Mike glance over their shoulders at us, watching the drama unfold. “When did it start?”

  I yank my hand from his, putting my arms behind my back. “The night before the Horsemen.”

  David’s mouth practically falls to the floor. “And you didn’t say anything to me, why? Lexa, this is…this is—well, I can tell you that it isn’t good!”

  “Obviously,” I say.

  “It means your Demon is coming.”

  “I know what it means.”

  David actually seems…sad. He sighs, his anger disappearing. “Like family members of someone terminal, I knew this day would come,” he whispers, surrounding me in a hug. “And I hoped it wouldn’t.”

  Pressing into his chest, his incense-filled scent nearly chokes me. In all my life, I can’t remember hugging him. Neither he nor I are the hugging type, which is why this doesn’t feel right. Improper, unsuitable, inappropriate for our personalities.

  But, out of everyone in the world, supernatural races included, I know I’d miss him the most once the day comes and Daddy Demon takes me away.

  I guess I’d miss my parents, too. They’re nice, sometimes.

  A minute passes, and I speak into his chest, “This is getting a little weird, David.” I feel him sigh, his arms still around me. I’m sure I could’ve broken out—he isn’t the overly-muscled type of male, but I decide to let him have his hug, just this once.

  “For a Human, you aren’t bad,” he says seriously before letting me go.

  Straightening my hair, I hold in a frown. “After all our years together, that’s the nicest thing you can say to me? I’m not bad?” When he shrugs his shoulders as if he said nothing wrong, I continue, “Well, for a Warlock, you’re not so ugly.” Fuming, I storm into the back room and sit beside Deb. I take David’s bowl of oatmeal and start eating.

  That dream must’ve made me hungry, and a tad irritable.

  David is behind me and, seeing that I stole his food yet again, swears in another language. He heads upstairs, probably to get more.

  As I eat and watch the news, helicopter footage of the second Horseman, War, I feel a small elbow. I focus on Deb.